


Finding Family

by IreneADonovan



Category: Captain America (Movies), X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medical, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Amputee Bucky Barnes, BAMF Charles, BAMF Edie Lehnsherr, BAMF Raven, Canon Disabled Character, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles in a Wheelchair, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erik Has Feelings, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Erik has Issues, Erik is a Sweetheart, Family Fluff, Fluff Fluff Everywhere a Fluff Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Gratuitous Old MacDonald Reference, I'm having waaaay to much fun here, Let's just say there's a lot of FLUFF! but then also, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Erik/Magda, Pre-Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Erik, Quadriplegic Charles, Romantic Fluff, Sassy Raven, Smitten Erik, The tag wranglers will hate me, eventually, protective Charles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-08 01:24:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17376905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneADonovan/pseuds/IreneADonovan
Summary: Erik, single father of five, works as an EMT. A chance encounter with cute doctor Charles Xavier has him rethinking the single part. Fluff and romance and smut and angst ensue.Also will contain some teenaged romance between Steve and Bucky, with angst and hurt/comfort tempered with fluff.





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JackyJango](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyJango/gifts).



> This story was inspired by a tumblr prompt by JackyJango involving doctor!Charles and EMT!Erik. I started this many moons ago, shortly before I became ill, and I was just now able to finish chapter one. I hope you enjoy, my dear.
> 
> Also, I know that Erik's daughter Nina from XMA was based on Anya from the comics, but I found I wanted to use both characters in this fic.

“If he dies, it's your fault!” A woman's voice, shrill, almost hysterical.

Hardly the first time Charles had heard that line. To be honest, he heard it almost daily, either aloud or in the shrieking thoughts of a distraught loved one. Such was life working in an emergency room.

He turned toward the voice, saw a diminutive woman backing a man up against the corridor wall. The woman was mid-thirties, dark hair pulled back in a messy bun, fear and anger twisting her fine features.

The man, who wore the uniform of one of the local ambulance services, was utterly stunning. Tall, at least six feet, with deep auburn hair, patrician features, ice-aqua eyes, and an absolutely killer body. His hands -- long-fingered, elegant -- were raised, warding the woman off, and his jaw -- strong, sculpted -- was clenched.

Charles wheeled toward them, projecting soothing energy. “Is there a problem here?”

The woman's demeanor shifted, relaxing visibly as she took a step back.

The man, on the other hand, turned his head toward Charles, glared, projected _Stay the fuck out of my mind._

Charles wanted to roll his eyes. “I'm not in it,” he said equably as he drew near. “Ma'am, is there something I can help you with?”

She broke down. “My son. They brought him in, and no one seems to know anything, and this one was positively rude.” She dashed tears from her eyes, glared at the EMT.

“What's your son's name?” Charles asked gently. “I'll see what I can find out.”

“James. James Barnes, but we call him Bucky.”

Charles nodded. “Why don’t you go have a seat. I'll let you know as soon as I can.” He projected calm and trustworthiness, and after a moment, the woman shuffled back toward the waiting room.

The EMT's pale aqua eyes regarded him with contempt. “Isn't it illegal to enter someone's mind without consent?”

“I didn't enter your mind. Or hers.”

“I felt you.”

“All I did was project a sense of calm, and I did it in defense of another. Well within what the law -- and hospital policy -- allow.”

“I didn't need defending.” Damn, even the man's voice was sexy, low and husky, with a vague, unplaceable accent.

“You're welcome,” Charles said dryly, irritation winning out over attraction. “Now if you'll excuse me, I really do need to see about that woman's son.”

“You aren't going to just blow her off?’ The man, whose nametag read “Lehnsherr,” arched a brow, sounding surprised and maybe a little impressed.

“Never.” And with that, Charles spun around and wheeled away.

**~xXx~**

Erik stared after the admittedly gorgeous doctor, though the man was clearly everything he hated about said profession -- high-handed and arrogant. And even though he was a mutant, he hadn't hesitated to abuse his powers -- typical telepath -- to enforce his will.

Nosy, meddling prick. Erik hadn't needed the help. The day he couldn't handle an irate parent was the day he got out of this gig, and he would never do anything else.

He bought a coffee from the kiosk by the main entrance and sipped at it, wondering where his partner had gone. Not that he really needed to wonder -- Azazel was dating one of the ER docs, and they were still in their hot-and-heavy phase. They'd probably locked themselves in a bathroom for a quickie.

Sure enough, by the time Erik was halfway through his coffee, Azazel sauntered up, black hair damp with sweat, red skin flushed to an even darker crimson, a freshly-fucked grin on his face. “Couldn't wait ‘til our shift was over?” Erik needled.

“Fuck you, Lehnsherr.” But there was no heat in his voice, and his grin remained undimmed.

“You're not my type.” He wasn’t, not really. Besides, Azazel preferred women.

“So find yourself a Tall, Dark, and Sexy and get some. Might make you less cranky.”

Erik glared at him.

“Or not.” Azazel shook his head. “Still, you could try finding yourself a cute doctor.”

“I have kids -- I don't have time to date.” Then he smiled, just a little. “Though I did just meet a cute doctor.” More like bone-meltingly gorgeous.

“Boy or girl?”

“Guy.”

“Tall, Dark, and Sexy?”

“Dark hair, freckles, not sure about the tall, but definitely sex on wheels.”

“Wheels?” Azazel's eyes widened. “Guy with eyes that are crazy-blue, lips red as my skin? Sounds English?”

“Yeah.” How did Az know?

Azazel started laughing. “That's Charles, Raven's brother.”

The pieces he hadn’t really thought about fell into place. Doctor in a power chair, working at SMC. Almost certainly Dr. Charles Xavier, a goddamned local hero. He was the reason this hospital had an emergency room dedicated to treating children, the only one in the region. He was known to be focused, driven, not inclined to take no for an answer, a fierce protector of his patients and their needs, yet also gentle, kind, good-humored. The man was painted as some kind of saint.

Erik still thought he was an asshole.

“I can get you his number,” Azazel teased, snaring Erik's coffee and taking a long gulp.

Erik snatched the cup back. “Get your own.”

“I don't even like coffee.”

“Then why do you always steal mine?” This was an old argument.

“I like the caffeine.”

“Ever hear of energy drinks?”

Az made a face. “They're nastier than the coffee.”

“So drink tea.” Erik took another drink. “Now c'mon, let's get back to work.”

“Sure you don't want Xavier's number?”

A part of him was tempted, but he knew where his loyalties lay. “No.”

**~xXx~**

“Hey, Charles, what are you still doing here?”

Charles glanced at the clock on his desk. Shit. His shift had ended nearly an hour ago. He looked up at his sister, smiling sheepishly. “Paperwork.”

“Do it tomorrow.” Raven plucked the pen from his good hand.

“Raven,” he protested.

“C'mon. Time for dinner.”

“No Azazel?”

“He gets off at ten. But don't worry -- I'll go to his place.”

“You make me sound like such a prude.” True, he didn't really like knowing just what his baby sister did in the bedroom -- or on their dining-room table. That image would forever be burned into his brain.

“Not a prude. Just someone who needs a life.”

Charles winced -- that hit a little too close to the bone.

“You sure you won't let me set you up? Az works with some really hot people.”

“Mother would just love that, both of her children dating EMTs.”

Raven grinned. “And that's exactly why you should do it.”

Charles frowned. Pissing off Sharon Xavier wasn't his favorite pastime, unlike Raven, who lived for it.

“Or at least date someone. You've been alone too long.”

He had, but he didn't have a clue where to look and said so.

“Anywhere. Everywhere. You're hot, you're rich, you're nice, and you're a doctor. Plenty of people will want to date you.”

Charles sighed and addressed the pink elephant in the room, the one Raven was always blind to, never seeing him the way the world did. “I'm also a quadriplegic. That tends to scare a lot of people off.”

“That just means you need to look a little harder. There's someone out there for you, I just know it.” She ruffled his hair affectionately. “So don't give up.”

He wasn't as certain, but he threw her a bone. “I did meet an absolutely gorgeous EMT today, but he was a bit of an arse.”

Raven made a ”gimme” gesture.

“Tall, fiery auburn hair, icy aqua eyes, body of a Greek god.”

Raven doubled over with laughter.

“What's so funny?”

It took a minute for Raven to compose herself enough to reply. “That's Erik, Az's partnern”

“Really?”

“The ‘he's a bit of an arse’” -- Raven mimicked his accent -- “cinched it, ‘cause I know you were being polite. According to Az, he's a right bastard to most everyone.”

“Definitely not dating material, then, if he hates everyone.”

“Not everyone. Just almost everyone. Az says he positively dotes on his kids, so he can't be all bad.”

Charles shook his head. “I don't have the time or the energy for someone that difficult, even if he's positively mouth-watering.”

Raven brushed a lock of hair back from his forehead. “Okay. But if you change your mind, I'll get his phone number from Az.”

“I won't.” Probably. Maybe. “What do you want to do about dinner?”

Raven tilted her head, considering. “I could pick something up on my way home. Chinese? Mexican? Burgers?”

“Sushi?” Charles asked hopefully.

Raven frowned. “That takes too long.”

Charles offered her his best pout.

“All right. All right. Sushi it is.” She kissed the top of his head. “I'll see you at home.”

**~xXx~**

It was almost eleven by the time Erik walked in the front door, but his mother was still awake, waiting for him on the living room couch. Erik frowned, suddenly worried, or at least more worried than usual. “Is everyone okay?”

“Of course, Liebling. None of them wanted to settle, they never do when you're not here, but they finally did.”

“Thanks, Ma. I couldn't do this without you.”

“No, you couldn't,” his mother agreed. “Your children are absolute hellions.”

“Ma!”

His mother grinned. “Just like you were. It's good I have experience.”

Erik gave her a fond-but-exasperated smile.

“But you turned out well in the end. Now come give your mother a kiss.”

Erik crossed the room, pulled his ma into his arms, kissed the top of her head. Her hair was silky and smelt of the shampoo she'd been using since he was a kid. Some things didn't change, and that was good.

He held her tight for a long moment then let her go. “I'm going to look in on the kids, then I'm going to go to bed. It was a long day.”

He saw the concern in her dark eyes, but she didn't pry. For once.

He walked down the hall and into the first bedroom. Nina, just past five, was curled in a contented ball, as were all four of the family cats, which were snuggled against her.

On the other side of the room was Lorna, not even two, nestled under her blanket, only her head poking out, green curls adorably rumpled.

Neither stirred as he stood there and watched, and after a minute he tiptoed back out.

The twins’ room was equally quiet. Wanda lay sprawled on her stomach, russet-brown hair spread out over her shoulders and back like a cape. And Pietro, silver hair gleaming in the soft moonlight, tossed restlessly, unable to stay still even in sleep.

Erik watched them for a while, then he slipped out and crossed the hall, entering his oldest daughter's room. Anya lay on her side, arms curled around her pillow. Even in the dim light he could see the scars along her right forearm, a stark reminder of his failure to protect her, to protect her mother. The reason he fought so hard to save others.

Unable to resist, he brushed a kiss over her forehead. She smiled softly but didn't wake, and he tiptoed back out. He could sleep now. His family was safe.

He retreated to his own bedroom, stripped to his boxers, and crawled under the covers, falling almost immediately into an exhausted slumber.

**~xXx~**

Charles eyed the last piece of spicy tuna roll, eyed Raven, eyed the tuna. Raven sighed dramatically but nodded, so Charles snared the sushi with his chopsticks and popped it in his mouth. He chewed, savoring the explosion of flavor, then spluttered as the spice assaulted his senses.

Raven laughed, damn her. “Your mouth is just as delicate as that English hide of yours. I'm surprised you don't have burns all the way down to your stomach.”

Charles glared at her.

“Why do you even eat it if it hurts that much?”

“Because it tastes good.”

“Masochist.” She pounced on the last piece of eel.

“Possibly.” Charles sipped pensively at his now-lukewarm tea, letting the tannins soothe his abused palate, thinking about a certain gorgeous EMT. “Probably.” He sighed. “So get me Az's partner's phone number.”

“Yes!” Raven pumped her fist.

“Not promising I'll use it.” Charles set his chopsticks down and rubbed at his face, suddenly weary.

Raven cocked her head, studying him. “Time for bed?”

He nodded, backed away from the table, and headed for his bedroom, Raven close behind.

The routine was comfortingly familiar. Raven had been helping him with parts of it since they were teenagers, and it had brought them close, though a part of him ached at how much of her time his care consumed.

He did well for a C7 quad who had but limited use of one hand, but the reality was there were many things he needed help with. He'd managed to convince Raven to let him hire someone to get him ready in the mornings, but she still insisted on keeping the nights for herself.

By the time he and Raven had navigated through everything necessary to get him ready for bed, he was well and truly worn out. No matter how familiar the routines, the process remained wearing and time-consuming.

Raven got him settled in bed, pillows propping him the way he preferred, then drew the covers up. “I'll be back to turn you,” she said.

“Don't hurry on my account. I should be okay. And if I need you, I'll call.” He gestured toward his temple.

She gave him her best patented Charles-you're-an-idiot-but-I-love-you-anyway look. “Charles, Azazel's a teleporter. I can be back here in the blink of an eye, get you resettled, and go right back to Azazel's.”

He sighed. “I just don't want to interfere in your love life. In your life, period. You deserve a life beyond taking care of me.”

It was an old argument, a familiar one. As was her response.

Her golden eyes flashed and her cheeks took on a purplish flush. “You took me in off the streets, convinced Sharon to adopt me, protected me from Kurt and Cain. You're my brother, and I love you, and you're stuck with me, and I wouldn't have it any other way, you big idiot. Okay?” Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes.

“Okay.” It wasn't, not entirely, and he blinked away the moisture in his own eyes.

She kissed his forehead, squeezed his shoulder, turned out the light as she left the room.

Charles closed his eyes, took a slow breath, hoped sleep would come quickly.


	2. Musings and Meetings

Erik woke early, as always, to the sound of happy children shrieking. He rolled onto his back and scrubbed at his eyes, chasing the sleep away, listening contentedly to the bustle, knowing his ma would be riding herd on his brood, knowing he could take a needed few minutes to himself.

And indeed, his mother's calm, firm voice rose above the din. “Sit **down** , Pietro. You know the rules about running in the house. And no, Nina, you know you can't take the cats for show-and-tell.”

Erik smiled. The happy chaos gladdened him beyond words. His children were his heart and soul, and he cherished every -- okay, almost every, his ma was right, they really were hellions -- moment he had with them. He knew all too well how easily someone could be gone, gone in an eyeblink.

Images of Magda skittered through his mind, ghostly and insubstantial but no longer so painful. He'd always love her, always miss her, but it no longer hurt too much to remember. He could see her sitting on the front steps of their house in Poland, baby Nina in her arms, as Anya and the twins played in the yard. She'd been radiant that afternoon, the sun sparking warm rust-and-gold highlights in her walnut-brown hair, her dark eyes lit from within.

He'd loved her, Gott how he'd loved her, and he still craved the kind of soul-deep closeness he'd had with her. But he had no illusions that lightning would strike twice in his life.

He'd thought to try with Suzanna, but that relationship had been doomed from the start. Magda's loss had still been a raw wound, and only combining alcohol with that all-consuming emptiness had driven him into her arms the night of the company holiday party, an encounter his memory had mercifully blurred.

Two months later, furious, she'd told him she was pregnant. She'd had no desire to be either a wife or a mother at that point in her life, so if he wanted to take the baby, he was welcome to it.

True to her word, she'd signed full custody over to him mere days after Lorna's birth, and thus had his brood of four expanded to five. She was a joy, happy and bubbly, and his older children had, to his relief, quickly accepted her.

As if prompted by his thoughts, his bedroom door pushed inward, and his youngest toddled in on unsteady little legs. Moments later, his ma appeared in the doorway, reaching for Lorna, chiding gently, “Your daddy's still asleep, Liebling. Let's not wake him.”

Erik lifted his head. “It's all right, Ma. I'm awake.”

“She still shouldn't be barging in.”

“She'll learn soon enough.”

His ma's eyes said she thought Lorna should be learning now, but she wouldn't contradict him in front of the kids. “I'll leave her with you, then. The others need to be off soon, and I still need to find Nina's Mr. Woof for show-and-tell.” Unspoken was, “Can you watch Lorna while I get the rest of your hellspawn out the door?”

Lorna had reached the side of his bed, and he sat up and swept her up onto his lap. “Morning, Schätzchen.”

“Daddy.” Lorna snuggled up against his chest.

His ma offered a fond smile and backed out of the doorway.

**~xXx~**

There weren't many things Charles disliked about his position as Chief of Pediatric Emergency Services, but the administrative headaches that kept him from actually seeing patients were at the top of his list. He'd spent the morning in a budget meeting with the hospital board; as always, they were asking him to do more with less. It was enough to make him want to tear his hair out, hairline that was trying to recede notwithstanding.

And it hadn't helped that they'd reminded him his presence would be required at the benefit at the end of the month, a duty that ranked a close second on the bad-things-about-his-job list. He always felt like a trained seal put on display, the curiosity, the doctor-in-a-wheelchair, the “inspirational” quadriplegic. Rubbish.

And that was if he was being polite about the donors’ thoughts.

It could drive him mad. At best, he'd wind up with a migraine from trying to block out so many minds at once. At worst, he'd be so exhausted from the effort he'd need to spend the next day in bed. Only Raven and her steady stream of snarky comments and snarkier thoughts ever got him through.

He zigged through the seemingly endless halls of SMC (that was Seventeen Miles of Corridors, not Salem Medical Center) on his way to the pediatric ICU. The young man whose mother had accosted Azazel's partner had survived, though it had been touch-and-go, and Charles intended to keep tabs on him.

He had been electrocuted, having accidentally grabbed a power cable obscured by the branches of the tree he'd been climbing. His heart had stopped twice, but he was stable enough now for Charles to be cautiously optimistic. They hadn't been able to save his left arm, though; it had been amputated just below the shoulder.

His mother sat by his bedside, holding his remaining hand, eyes haunted. Still, she managed a tight smile as Charles came through the doorway. “Mrs. Barnes?” he asked quietly.

She nodded but didn't speak.

“I came to see how the two of you are doing.” He smiled gently.

“They think he'll pull through,” Mrs. Barnes said, voice threatening to break.

Once again he projected calm reassurance. “He's young, he's strong. His chances are good.”

Her eyes couldn't help but stray to her son's heavily-bandaged shoulder, the empty spot where his arm should have been.

“Again, he's young and strong. He'll learn to adapt.” Charles drew closer to her. “It won't be easy. He's likely to be angry for some time. Let him, and don't smother him. Just make sure he knows you love him, and be patient.”

Her eyes returned to his, with only the barest flick downward to his wheelchair. “You've been there,” she observed. “You understand.”

He nodded. “I was about Bucky's age when I was paralyzed. I'd never have made it through without my sister.” He fumbled in his coat pocket, pulled out a business card, extended it toward her. “If you need anything at all, please don't hesitate to call.”

She took it and tucked it into her purse. “Thank you, doctor.”

“Just call me Charles,” he said. “I'm not big on formality, despite the accent.”

A genuine smile fluttered briefly on her lips.

“I'll give you two some time together, then.” He turned toward the door. “I'll check back later.”

Her gratitude was like a warm wave washing over him as he wheeled out.

He left the ICU unit and headed toward the cafeteria, intent on snagging lunch before anything or anyone demanded his attention.

His phone chimed with a text from Raven, reminding him of the new number sitting heavy in his contacts list, programmed there by Raven under the infuriating title of “loverboy.” Should he call? Would he call? Was it even worth it to try? He had a good life, a comfortable life. Did he really want to risk his heart this way? Especially with someone whose mind and personality were as prickly as a saguaro cactus.

If he had believed in Fate or Chance, he might have thought those celestial beings had intervened as he rounded the last corner onto the corridor leading to the cafeteria and ran smack into Erik Lehnsherr.

Literally.

Lehnsherr was standing on the near side of the hall, deep in conversation with a woman who wore the teal scrubs of a CNA, and Charles’ footrest clipped him hard on the right achilles tendon. He leapt into the air with a startled yelp, landed on his left foot alone, wobbled, pitched forward.

Reaching for him was instinctive, never mind that Charles couldn't really catch him. But it turned out not to matter. Lehnsherr's arms windmilled for a moment, then he latched onto the arms of Charles’ chair, finding his balance.

This had the added effect of putting his face inches from Charles’, stealing Charles’ breath without even an effort. His eyes were wide, pale, luminous, a rare combination of soft shades of blue-grey-green, and Charles saw both joy and pain reflected in their depths. Aquiline nose. High cheekbones. Cheeks and chin covered in a short ginger-auburn scruff. Broad mouth with thin pale-pink lips. Kissable lips.

Lehnsherr glanced sway, breaking the spell that held Charles mesmerized. He straightened slowly, unfolding those long, rangy limbs, stood carefully, favoring his right leg.

“Sorry,” Charles said. “Are you all right?”

Lehnsherr shifted weight onto his injured ankle, testing it. “I'll live,” he said, voice tight with pain.

“At least let me take a look at it. My office isn't far.” _Please._

It was like shutters slammed down over those ice-pale eyes, and his mind went from saguaro to pincushion cactus, razor-sharp defenses virtually exploding outward. “No, thank you,” he said, voice a stiff, almost formal growl. “I’ll be fine.”

He turned and limped off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liebling: love
> 
> Schätzchen: darling (little treasure)
> 
> CNA: Certified Nursing Assistant


	3. Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was published two years to the day after I joined AO3.

Charles watched Lehnsherr limp away, frankly baffled as to what had just happened. Why had Lehnsherr gone from acting like he'd welcome the kiss Charles had considered giving him to pissed and prickly in the space of an eyeblink.

Charles replayed the encounter, as well as their previous one. Lehnsherr's hostility the first time stemmed from his use of his telepathy, and today--

Charles facepalmed as he realized. It had been instinctive for him, natural as breathing. He'd reached out with his telepathy, an extra little nudge to intensify his plea to let Lehnsherr tend to his ankle, not realizing just how hyperaware of telepathy the man really was.

“Charles?” The soft, concerned voice of one of his colleagues, Moira MacTaggert.

He looked up into her warm brown eyes.

“Are you all right?”

He offered her a rueful smile. “I'm fine, Moira. Just realizing I'm a colossal idiot.”

“This comes as a surprise?” Moira teased, then she said, “C'mon, let's get lunch, and you can tell Auntie Moira all about it.”

Charles chuckled and followed Moira into the cafeteria. She snared a tray, asked, “What're you having?”

Charles thought a moment. “Sushi, two trays of the assorted.”

Moira wrinkled her nose but found what he asked for, then got a chicken-salad sandwich and side salad for herself. “Tea, I presume.”

“Earl Grey, please.”

Moira smiled. “Charles, sometimes you're just so **English**.”

Charles mock-bristled. “And which of us was born here?”

“Not me.” Moira's voice held but a trace of her native Scots accent, as opposed to the emphatically English one he'd never been able to shed. She got his hot water and tea and milk, then a lemonade for herself, and headed for the cashier.

Charles reached for his staff ID to pay, but she waved it away. “I invited you,” she said, tapping her own against the reader.

He didn't bother to argue; it never did any good. They headed toward a table in the back that was conveniently already minus a chair.

Charles prepared his tea while Moira took the tray to the rack by the trash. His three good fingers felt a little stiff today -- that happened sometimes -- but he'd muddle through.

Moira slid into the seat across from him, took a sip of her lemonade. “So spill,” she said.

He began to relate what had happened with Lehnsherr, only to be stopped almost immediately. “Wait a minute,” Moira said. “ **Erik** Lehnsherr?”

Like Lehnsherr was a common name. “Yeah. You know him?” Why was he surprised.

“For years. His wife was one of my best friends in high school.”

Charles pointed at her with his chopsticks. “Okay, now **you** spill.”

She nibbled at her salad. “Not much to tell. She and her parents were Polish emigrés -- she and I bonded over being new to this country. She met Erik the summer after graduation, and it was practically love at first sight. They were both still in college when they married, and their eldest, Anya, followed a little over a year later. Once they both graduated, Magda managed to convince him to move to Poland and take over her grandparents’ farm.”

Charles couldn't picture Erik as a farmer.

“To everyone’s surprise, they made it work. They had three more kids, and everything seemed idyllic, perfect.”

Moira paused, took a swallow of lemonade, looking like she wished it was a good single-malt. “Their youngest, Nina, wasn't even a year old when it all went to shit. Erik had gone into town, taking their twins with him, and when they were on their way back, he saw smoke coming from their house.”

Moira closed her eyes, voice dropping almost to a whisper. “He floored it, and it only took him a couple of minutes, but the house was burning badly already. He could hear Magda scream his name, saw her in an upstairs window, framed by flames. Nina was in her arms, Anya clutching at her hips. She was trying to make a rope out of sheets, but it was too late. He told Magda to drop the kids to him, then jump herself.”

Moira's voice broke at that point, and she took a long almost-frantic gulp of her drink before continuing. “He caught Nina, set her down, caught Anya. Anya's hair and sleeve were on fire. He beat the flames out with his bare hands, then turned back for Magda. But she was gone.”

“Good Lord,” Charles breathed.

“The floor had collapsed under her. The only metal she was wearing was a locket, not nearly enough to pull her to safety, but he tried anyway, until the chain snapped.” Moira closed her eyes again. “He says he would have charged in then, even knowing she was almost certainly already lost, knowing he was almost certainly throwing his own life away. Then he felt Anya clinging to his leg, sobbing, terrified, in pain, and he understood in that moment how much she needed him, how much they all needed him. So he picked both girls up, got the twins from the car, and sat with them all until the fire crews arrived.”

Charles set his chopsticks down, food all but forgotten. “I can see how that might make him angry at the world.”

Moira shook her head. “He was always angry about everything. If anything, those kids have mellowed him.” She picked up her sandwich. “Now get back to telling me why we're talking about the cranky bastard in the first place.”

Charles took a sip of tea and began. Moira listened quietly as he related the two encounters, then she said, “I know why he's sensitive about telepathy, but that's really, really not my story to tell. I shouldn't have told you as much about him as I did.”

Now she decided to develop gossip scruples. Charles picked his chopsticks back up, shifting them in his grasp until they were seated properly. “Regardless, it sounds like I owe him an apology, and not just for running him down. Maybe over coffee?”

Moira smiled and nodded. “He likes it strong and black.”

Of course he did. “I'll text him.”

“He hates texting,” Moira warned.

“Is there anything he doesn't hate?” Charles asked irritably.

“His mom, his kids, black coffee, cats, and tacos.”

“Cats?” He'd have bet the man was a dog person.

Moira nodded. “They've got four.”

All right. He could work with cats and kids. Even tacos. It wasn't much, but at least it was a place to start cracking the tough nut that was Erik Lehnsherr.

**~xXx~**

Erik limped away from ~~the asshole~~ Xavier, angry enough to tune out much of the pain in his ankle. Bad enough that the man had been careless enough to run him down, but then he'd invaded his mind.

He made his way toward the northwest entrance, moving at about half his normal speed. Most times he didn't mind SMC's sprawling campus, liking the exercise walking it provided, but today was **not** one of those times. And of course the cafeteria just happened to be about dead center.

His anger had faded enough to make him acutely aware of the burning pain at the back of his ankle, but he limped grimly onward. Someone rounded a corner from a cross-corridor, someone Erik recognized immediately, someone he could actually call a friend, if not a particularly close one. “Janos,” he called.

Janos Quested glanced in Erik's direction, his obsidian eyes sparking, curious. He was an L&D nurse, a Spaniard who looked like a sulky male model in his purple scrubs, silky dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, pouty pink lips curved in a faint smile that faded as he took in Erik's limp.

“Erik. ¿Que pasó? Are you all right, mi amigo?”

“Someone ran a wheelchair into the back of my leg.”

Janos cocked one elegant brow.

“Charles Xavier.”

The brow arched higher.

“It was an accident.” Probably.

“Come. I will get you ice.”

Erik followed Janos to a small staff lounge, sank gratefully onto a hard plastic chair while Janos began preparing an ice pack out of a zip-top bag. While he waited, Erik peeled down his sock to reveal an ugly black-purple welt a little above his heel.

Janos, ice pack in hand, dropped into a squat to survey the damage, whistled. “You might want to have a doctor take a look at that.”

Erik glared at him. “Just give me the ice, Quested.”

“Only if you tell me what really happened.”

“Nothing. I was just standing too close to the corner when Xavier came flying around it.”

Janos side-eyed Erik but said nothing more as he handed the ice pack over. He rose with fluid grace, catlike, brushed his bangs back. Could the man do anything without looking like he was posing? “You want me to find a wrap for that?”

Erik flexed his ankle experimentally, bit back a hiss. “Maybe you'd better.”

“I'll be right back.”

Erik propped his foot on one of the other chairs, applied the ice to the puffy purple flesh, pulled out his phone to let Az know where he was, stared at the message he found waiting for him.

Unknown #: I'm afraid I owe you several apologies.

Xavier. Unquestionably.

Erik: To put it mildly.

Xavier: Are you sure you're all right? I do wish you'd let me look at it.

Erik: I'll be fine.

There was no quick response, and Erik figured Xavier was done, so he fired off that text to Az, only to have a new message from Xavier pop up just seconds after he hit send.

Xavier: Would you at least let me buy you a cup of coffee and apologize properly? And maybe explain a few things?

Erik considered. A large part of him wanted to tell Xavier to fuck off, but another part of him wondered what sort of justifications the man would use for his actions. He grinned, anticipating an argument. Besides, another part of him still found Xavier bone-meltingly gorgeous, and he didn't mean his cock, though admittedly it was on the same page.

He must have taken too long to respond, because a new text from Xavier popped up, a selfie making puppy-dog eyes at the camera and the word “Please?”

Erik again felt he could get lost in those cobalt eyes.

Erik: You”re not going to go away, are you?

Xavier: So is that a yes?

Erik sighed, raked a hand through his hair.

Erik: Yes, damn you.

Xavier: Tomorrow?

Erik: We're scheduled for non-emergency transports tomorrow. Don't know if we'll be at SMC, but if we are, sure. Azazel will want to take “lunch” then, anyway.

Xavier: TMI. That's my sister he's shagging.

Erik threw his head back and laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Que pasó?: What happened?
> 
> L&D: Labor and Delivery
> 
> My headcanon for the hospital layout is a local hospital, TMC, which is said to actually stand for Twenty Miles of Corridors (though the real total is closer to eight).
> 
> Writer lives for comments...

**Author's Note:**

> Please feed(back) the writer!


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